The Executioners
by Experimental
Summary: OZ Specials Alex and Mueller made a formidable pair against the African remnants of the Alliance. But glory comes at a price, ideals must lose their essence to survive, and men can go mad in a war in which there are no winners. Unfinished.


The Executioners 

— 

When I was a kid my dream was to be a part of the OZ Special Forces and pilot a mobile suit. I went to all the Nairobi shows, collected models, posters. Played make-believe in the backyard. It was more than a dream. It was a plan. A destination. I was promised I would be able to sign up on my sixteenth birthday, but when the time came no one made good on that promise. I had to wait six more agonizing months, when I did it myself, on my own terms. 

However — I didn't get a mobile suit. Not at first, that is, which was a disappointment. Somehow I thought I would, you know, like those kids on the posters and on TV, happily fighting for the common good of OZ and the United Earth Sphere Alliance. Instead I had to go through basic zero-gravity training — twice; it's not like I'm ever going to use it — and advanced math and mobile suit maintenance. History of OZ (yawn). That sort of stuff. I mean, that knowledge comes in handy now, but it's boring as hell when everyday all you wanna do is be out there in a suit fighting, changing things. It was kind of a letdown. 

Things changed when I met Alex. I guess you could say they got more exciting. 

He came to Lake Victoria after my bunkmate was discharged. I didn't feel any remorse — over my former bunkmate, I mean. Got some time all to myself. And I never liked the guy anyway. When I heard I'd be getting a new one, naturally I knew I wasn't gonna like him either. He was probably just gonna be some big dumb jock with delusions of grandeur. The officers didn't even say anything until I approached them about it. And that was after I found out from the other guys, and you know how reliable they are. So, one day I get back after my morning warm-up, and there's this big Nordic-looking guy — blond, big nose, and whiter than the Michelin Man — sitting on the bunk above mine, in uniform, typing away on a laptop. 

I didn't know who he was, so I asked him, and not very kindly. I mean, the management could have done their job and had us meet in some neutral setting like an office or something. Some place you can make a nice and vague first impression. But it was my bunk. It's only natural to get defensive. 

He looked down his nose at me. OK, so he _was_ on the top bunk; what else was he gonna do? But that was really irritating. See, there are unspoken rules men're just supposed to follow. Mores, dammit. Metaphorical tail between the legs. You know, show some goddamn respect. He just says, "Are you Mueller?" 

"Yeah," I said. "You didn't answer my question." 

"I'm Alex," he says, all casual, "your new bunkmate." He hopped down from his bunk and stuck his face in mine. I backed up. Who did this guy think he was anyhow? It didn't matter what his history was — he was the newbie, and newbies oughtta know their place. Then he had the gall to ask, "You black?" 

"Does it matter?" I said. 

But he just shrugged and brushed past me. "No," he says, completely cool about it. "I was just curious." 

Just curious? The nerve of this guy! I thought. First he asks a stupid question like that, makes it sound like a big deal, and then he turns his back on me — like he doesn't even care! — and starts making himself at home — which was insensitive of him; it was still my bunk. Mores, dammit! "For your information," I told him, "I happen to have Maasai blood in me." 

"Fascinating," he said, in a way that made it sound like anything but, and dug around in his locker — which I was thinking was too close to mine. 

"Well, you said you were curious," I said. "I bet you don't even know who the Maasai are." 

Alex rolled his eyes. "Warrior tribe native to Kenya," he said with a sigh of irritation. "Usually a little taller, though. I'm not stupid, kid. I bet you're proud." 

"That's right," I told him. "I am. And I don't appreciate people like you belittling that." He looked up at me, sort of sideways like, with this kind of holier-than-thou air of indifference — you know, the kind that compels people to commit aggravated assault. "And I especially don't like it when people like you act like you're so much better than me," I said. "You know, people like you get their asses kicked at dinner time." 

Alex just shut his locker and smiled lopsided at me. Looking down his nose again. "The ass kicking will have to wait, kid," he said. "I have a class." He reached past me for his laptop. "Nice meeting you, Mueller," he said over his shoulder, and then left. 

So much for first impressions. I didn't know it yet — I was too busy hating his guts — but aside from Blue Angel, meeting Alex was going to be the best thing to happen to me in that place. 

—— 

Over the past two years I've been transferred from one school to another. No one ever gave me a good reason why. I wouldn't call myself a troublemaker. Not by nature, anyway. My ideals might have been too radical for my instructors. OZ likes to think it has strict moral principles, a go-get-'em attitude, even a bully image, but when it comes down to it that glory belongs to the few selfless soldiers and corrupt officials with the will power and stupidity, respectively, to uphold that image. I was a little rough on the equipment, I must amend. Messed one Aries up pretty bad. Hey, though, making mistakes is a part of learning. And I always knew they weren't my type of suit. No, I think it came down to the fact they just didn't like me. 

The Lake Victoria Military Academy was the last place I received any formal training. I had grown up in South Africa, so it was almost like coming home. The ranking officer and main instructor there was Lieutenant Lucrezia Noin, unusual in her field, I guess, because she's a woman. And young. She was nice but tough, a natural teacher, didn't take any bullshit, and I admire her most for that. I heard a rumor that also happened to be true, that she graduated at the top of her class, just below the infamous "Lightning Count," Zechs Merquise. The way some told it, she could have been The top, but had chosen not to be. I resented that a bit, because it bugs me when people purposefully don't live up to their potential; but then she wouldn't have been there and we would have had someone worse for an instructor. Someone like Zechs. Maybe that's why she did it. 

She put me in a bunk with some kid named Mueller and told me not to provoke him. He has a temper. From that and some of the stories I had been told I was expecting someone big and physically threatening. Not some skinny kid with a fade haircut whose only threatening feature was that he could beat the whole place in a beauty contest. Really, he looks like a young Ricky Nelson. Anyway, I could tell he didn't like me when we met. He made everything I said sound like a personal insult. I suppose I might have come off a little arrogant, but I still don't know how he managed to read into things I never said. Still, I really couldn't blame him, since I was invading his space. And when you don't have much to begin with... He was an ass, though. I shouldn't make excuses for that. I thought, lucky for me I don't have any classes with him. I just have to put up with his crap around bedtime and that's it. 

Right. My first night on base, I was just stepping inside the mess for dinner when I heard a crash like in the movies when someone knocks over a table. 

"You fucking bastard!" Mueller shouted. He had slammed his hands on the table in front of this other student, making the silverware and glasses rattle. The other guy just shrugged and chuckled and gave his friends a sidelong glance, which indicated to me he had just said something not exactly fitting of a dinner conversation. Mueller said, "You think that's funny, huh, Tony?" He stood back, folding his arms across his chest. "Fine. I'll give you something to laugh about, asshole." 

Tony stood up, and turned out to be almost a whole head taller. He had this sadistic smile that even I found instantly irritating. He looked like someone out of a gangster movie, and I half expected him to come up with some trite comeback with a corny Brooklyn accent. "Is that a threat?" he said. 

Without preamble Mueller hit him square in the face. Tony stumbled back, clutching his nose. "You bet it is," Mueller said. 

When Tony pulled his hand back, his eyes got real big. "Son of a bitch—" he says. He must have seen blood, because then he said: "You're gonna pay for that!" and swung his fist. 

Mueller ducked under his arm easily. His eyes never left Tony, picking up the nuances of every move. He obviously knew exactly what he was doing. He sank his fist into Tony's stomach, making him double over and back hard into someone sitting at a nearby table. "Hey, watch it!" the guy said, annoyed but too chicken to get involved. Tony was a strong guy, and it was hardly a second before he had caught his breath and was ready for more. He rushed Mueller and grabbed the front of his jacket, and Mueller, unfazed, just pushed him right back. Before Tony had even touched him, some of the other students, myself included, and lower-ranking officers were on their feet, rushing to break up the fight. I grabbed Mueller by the arm, pulling him away from Tony — who was struggling against his own friends — but not fast enough to prevent him from landing a perfect, if accidental, kick to Tony's family jewels. I got an elbow in the ribs for my effort. 

Mueller wasn't about to let it go so easily. "Who's the pussy now, huh, Tony?" he was shouting, fists still balled, and, "Let me at that bastard!" That sort of thing. There wasn't a scratch on him. Tony had drops of blood on his shirt. 

"That's enough, Mueller," I said. Instantly he stopped struggling. He seemed startled to learn I was the one holding him back. I expected him to round on me for stopping him. Instead he turned to me with the most surprised look on his face. "Any more of that and you're going to be in big trouble with the Instructor," I reminded him. "Besides, I think he got the message." 

Mueller's shoulders relaxed. There was a quiet sigh around the room as everyone remembered to breathe, and finally he realized people were staring. "Let go of me," he said, and shrugged me off and straightened his jacket front. For a moment he stared down Tony, with a look so full of spite I readied myself to grab him again if he tried anything. Instead he turned away and pushed past me, and snarled, "Jerk." I'm still not sure which of us it was meant for. 

——— 

The officers came in shortly after. Someone must have told them what had happened. At least Instructor Noin wasn't one of them. They looked over Tony, who was holding his nose in a wad of paper napkins, and told him to go to the infirmary. Then they asked me what happened. I told them Tony had called me a faggot, slandered my family, and made some racist remarks. The last part wasn't true, but it always makes the other guy look bad. He tried to attack me, and I defended myself. I didn't say which came first. I sounded remorseful: "I didn't mean to hurt him." — "You broke his nose," the man said. I tried not to make it look like I liked hearing that. But I really did. I've fought other guys who've come back later, usually with their eyes black and blue, and said they hadn't meant it — "it just came out." I believe them because we all lose it every once in a while. But I knew Tony wasn't like that. He and his ugly nose deserved whatever they got. 

I thought I was free, until Alex stepped in. They asked him if he had seen what happened. And he had to go and tell the truth — that I threw the first punch and that he hadn't heard what Tony said. I saw the officers write that down and knew it would get back to Noin. The other guys were listening in. I could hear them whispering about us — me and Alex and Tony — even though I couldn't make out what they were saying. I felt humiliated, all because of him. Even though I had clearly licked that jerk Tony, he made me look like a complete ass in front of my classmates. 

And it was only his first day. 

He hung around after all the other guys had left. I was angry, and that made me stay behind, too. I wanted to know what the deal was, why he was so unaffected by me, and why he went out of his way to stick his big, European nose into my business — and why a part of me was actually drawn to him for it. I mean, what makes this guy so special? 

Alex was standing by the end of the bar with his arms crossed, a lopsided smile on his face. I walked up to him and he said, "We need to talk, Mueller," in that sort of lazy, nasally voice that was really starting to get to me. 

"Good," I said. "I wanted to ask you a few things myself. Starting with, _what's your fucking problem!_" I swung at him. 

He caught my wrist and swung me hard against the bar. I gaped. I hadn't really meant to hit him — I just wanted to get my point across. That he took it so seriously shocked me so that fighting back didn't even come to mind. 

"No," he said. "What's _your_ problem? I mean, I've only been here one day, so correct me if I'm wrong, but are you trying to get yourself discharged?" He sounded strangely calm, as though the whole thing baffled him, and was even amusing. 

"They can't throw me out," I told him. "They won't touch me." He was taller than me, but I was not about to look up at him. All I got was a sore neck. 

"Yeah? Why's that?" Alex said. "You know, the lieutenant warned me about you." 

"Lieutenant _Noin?_" I said. "What'd she say about me?" 

"That you're a punk kid with a major attitude problem." 

"I'm no more a 'kid' than you are," I reminded him. He kept calling me that, but we were both seventeen. 

"Then stop acting like it." 

I told him to mind his own business. 

He was silent for a moment while he glared at me. I felt like my mind was under a microscope, like he could see all my dreams and fears and everything else I wanted no one to know. "I seem to be pissing you off," he finally said. "Well? Why don't you fight me? I'm right here." His gesture invited me to hit him. 

That was it. That was the very thing that bothered me the most about this guy. Everything was so goddamned matter-of-fact with him. As much as he bugged me, I couldn't bring myself to hit him. I knew he was testing me. I thought I might actually be developing some respect for the guy, somewhere deep down, and it literally didn't sit well. I had to say something, so I said, "I don't want to fight you," even though it sounded yellow. 

"But you almost beat that guy's nose to a pulp," he said. "I think you enjoyed it." From the look on his face, it seemed he had enjoyed it too. 

I poked him where I knew it hurt, right under the clavicle. "Look, pal," I said, "I didn't ask for your opinion, and I certainly didn't ask for you to come down here and tell me how I should feel. You mess with me and I'll have your ass thrown outta here _so_ fast, jerk. Now, if you'll excuse me," I said, "I'd like to get to back to _my_ bunk." 

I went to push past him, but he grabbed my arm so tight I couldn't get away without struggling, and no way in hell I was about to give him that satisfaction. For all I knew then, he could have been one of those creeps that likes to look at you in the shower. "No," Alex said. "Not until we get one thing straight." He didn't even raise his voice. He was so carelessly serious and frank, like he was talking about the goddamn weather or something, that it just froze me. "I don't care how you treat anyone else," he said. "That's none of my business. But _I_ am not going to take any of this tough guy BS from you." 

I almost laughed in disbelief. No threats or anything, he just wanted me to know — he might as well have started, "Oh, and by the way..." — "What are you trying to say?" 

He backed off. "I'm saying that if we're going to be living together, we might as well be friends." He extended his hand to me. I was too incredulous from his last words to take it, so we just stared at his hand for a long, awkward minute. "Or, if that doesn't work," he amended, "you keep off my back, I'll keep off yours." 

I laughed. "Sounds fair enough." 

——— 

I hadn't really meant it, of course. What I said about us being friends. Men — and, I don't know, probably women too — are so used to living lies for the sake of social courtesy that I never expected anything more than that. I expected we'd probably have one of those awkward relationships where we'd pretend to be friendly the few times we had to talk to each other for the sake of company and inside remain indifferent and apathetic. I certainly never expected myself to actually trust him, let alone him trust me. But that came much later. 

After I broke up the fight with Tony, Noin had my schedule moved around so I could spend more time with Mueller. She seemed to think I had promise as a good influence or something. (It was about that time she told me about Mueller's previous roommate. Apparently he had been sent home because Mueller beat _him_ up. Talk about blaming the victim. I was guessing the academy was getting donations from Mueller's family, but no one ever confirmed it one way or the other.) So with all this time together, we started talking about things — not much about our personal lives, which were just that, but about politics, MS, movies, whatever was big in the news. Mostly politics. We found we shared most of our views and had similar goals. Although, if you asked us, we wouldn't have said we were exactly friends. In fact, we probably would have denied it altogether. Grudges died hard in Victoria. 

Mueller's a perfectionist — though he'd vehemently deny it, call himself a rebel or something nonconformist — and getting two perfectionists to like each other works about as well as putting a square peg in a round hole. I think we might have killed each other those first few months if I had gone into Aries training along with him. It's funny how some people who hit it off right away end up hating each other's guts, while those convinced they're enemies wind up being the strongest allies. 

When I first met Mueller I really didn't think there was much to him. A spoiled rich kid with a lot of spoiled brat frustration and nowhere to put it. It didn't take long to realize how wrong my prejudices had been again. Every day it was a run before breakfast, and he spent hours in the gym. That was on top of our MS and zero gravity simulations, which take a lot out of you at the end of the day. I thought I was in shape, but I swear there isn't an ounce of fat on him. I usually saw him beating the snot out of the punching bag while the other guys were doing bench presses. He had discipline, and determination, which is more than you could say for most of the kids there. You don't just wake up one day with the force and control it takes to break someone's nose. It's the kind of discipline you expect to be hammered into you in military school but certainly didn't get at Victoria. His philosophy, though he never said it, is that if something isn't done right it isn't worth doing. He was the same way about his classes, even though he complained _continuously_ about how boring they were and how he was never going to use half of it. It was laughable, because he just breezed through it. 

He confided in me once that he had known from a child that he was going to be a Special and would do anything to achieve that. I think I laughed, and he thought I was making fun of him: that he sounded childish or maybe he thought I didn't take him seriously. I assured him it was quite the contrary. Of course I didn't tell him how envious I was of his determination, and of having decided his destiny so early. Guys just don't tell each other that sort of thing. It's embarrassing. 

The topic at our table at mess was almost always the current condition of the UESA. Mueller was a strong believer in Treize Khushrenada and he could gush for hours about how much the Alliance could benefit from his leadership. He would get the other guys hear-hearing into their potatoes. Many of the men we trained with looked up to Treize for inspiration. He was not too much older than a lot of us, he was charismatic, and his ideas were new and revolutionary yet at the same time any idiot could see the sense in them. 

At that time the Alliance was just starting to become the stagnant mess it was before the coup at Nairobi. Before then, the militaristic half had been exercising its power to an extent that got results without riling the emotions of the pacifist half, but you could start to see the internal bitterness growing. The crimes of one Colony after the next were exposed to the Earth Sphere, and they stepped in to take control. Of course they took what resources were useful, too, but that's the price you pay. Many Earth citizens protested the move, but none of them were serious enough to actually do anything about it. They enjoyed their safety too much — the safety we were fighting to protect. 

True, we heard stories about civilians being killed, but in all cases their activities had been dangerous and illegal. What few terrorists made it to Earth lacked organization and the planning to carry out anything more serious than some bombs at Alliance bases. Tales of sabotage on MS transports in space were probably blown way out of proportion, but they succeeded in boosting the morale of the Specials in training at the base. A lot of them were hoping to go into space after they served their time on Earth. I wasn't one of them. Earth needs all the protection it can get: eventually the Colonists would retaliate — in a more effective way than their scattered rebels had. Someone had to be here when it happened. 

That's what the Specials were for. These days most of them go to the Colonies to aid the Alliance's space forces in protecting Earth's 'interests'. It was Instructor Noin's job to train elite pilots who could be sent to space as the war progressed. A few of us she singled out for a different purpose, however. As Specials we wouldn't be tied to the same rules and tiptoe politics as Alliance pilots. That didn't mean most of the Specials-in-training weren't willing to lay down their lives for the likes of Noventa and Septem. But it did mean we weren't obligated to answer to them. The Special Forces were formed to act independently of the UESA in combat. 

But what Noin proposed to us, in confidentiality, went far beyond that: a world free of the Alliance's restrictions, an end to its stagnation and internal decay, and a sophisticated military governed entirely by OZ. In short, a revolution. She discussed the prospect with Mueller and me between classes when everyone else had left, and the occasional evenings she ate with us in the mess. I knew she spoke to the female trainees about it as well. They made plans at their table in the middle of the dinner bustle for everyone to hear, but no one ever did. See, guys never listen to women's conversations. They think they don't ever have anything important to say. That's one of the greatest things women have going for them. 

Noin took a special interest in Mueller and me. She cared about our futures. She often complimented us on our grasp of the material, knowing how much that reinforcement meant to us. As graduation grew nearer and nearer, I regretted that I would have to leave her and her guidance. I regretted that the instructor I respected most I spent so little time with, but at least she would put a happy ending on my time in training. Sometimes she would say to me: "Your instructor—" the Cancer instructor "—tells me you're the best he's seen since he started here." Or of techniques, "You're such a natural at this. Why don't you join me for Aries instruction?" 

"Because you wouldn't want me in an Aries," I'd remind her, grinning. 

She'd just shrug, also grinning — even with the evidence she didn't believe me — and say, "You and Mueller would make a formidable team." 

I didn't need to tell her we would anyway. 

——— 

Graduation was still several months away, but we could already taste it, us Aries pilots, that day we finally came face to face with our Aries. The MS gave us a sense of accomplishment that no amount of studying could have, as well as an overwhelming sense of belonging. It meant, without doubt, that I was a soldier of OZ. Needless to say it was the best day of my life. My very own mobile suit. It was the day I had been dreaming about for most of my life, and I had earned it. I secretly nicknamed her Blue Angel after one of the show fighter squadrons I used to watch as a kid. It was also appropriate for an Aries. They are the most beautiful machines ever created. 

Alex had been using the Cancers for some while before me because he had more experience. He never bragged — not on purpose, anyhow, that wouldn't be like him — but he told me all about piloting the Cancer. I was so jealous every time, but I could never hear enough. The power, the exhilaration of being in control — but at the same time having that feeling of helplessness that encourages men to greatness, to take a firm grasp on their destiny. And Aries did not let me down. Alex was training in an old, used suit, however, and he would have to get a new one after graduation. The Cancers were being revamped, so the administration didn't care so much what students did to the old ones. 

But Blue Angel was new, and she was all mine. I knew my father would be proud. When I told him I had signed up, he had been bitter and hardly spoke to me the whole time before I left home. I knew why he reacted like that, just as I knew he would see differently after I told him the good news. He had to be proud that I worked so hard for this — and that I had achieved my childhood dream. When I was little, he always said I could be whatever I wanted if I worked hard enough. Even a mobile suit pilot. Maybe he thought that dream would pass, just a childhood phase; but as a parent, how could he _not_ appreciate what I had done for my future? What I was going to do for my family's name? I decided I would wait until graduation, then give him a call. By then, I would be the best Aries pilot on base, short of Instructor Noin who must be the best there is. 

Of course, it was difficult at first, piloting a real suit. Simulations are nothing like the real thing. A mobile suit is huge and heavy and overwhelmingly dependent on its pilot, something you don't actually realize until you're in the cockpit. I heard that compelled some of the guys to pray before every take off. Learning to drive standard was a cakewalk in comparison. If it's a Leo, you have to make it walk. I've seen more Leos fall on their faces than I can count. The biggest mistake newbies make is trying to get those things to run like in the cartoons. They don't. If it's a Cancer, you have to watch its buoyancy. I don't really know how that works, but Alex tried explaining it to me once. Now, if it's an Aries, you have to make it fly. I didn't want my Angel to be damaged, so I took it easy at first. I felt there was a bond of sorts between us, so it was important to avoid mistakes. My greatest fear was that I would get her in the air and not be able to keep her there — used to have nightmares about it — and not just because the officers told us a dozen times a day "mobile suits don't grow on trees." Although that was one reason to get the Aries transformation down to a T as soon as possible. When you take off, you bring the legs go up into the suit to decrease drag. When you land, you put them down. They're your landing gear. Seems easy enough to remember — until that one time you forget. And, believe me, it's one of those things you only ever forget once. One guy in my class did just that and his suit was in repairs for weeks. He got a mean talking to from some of the officers about funds and responsibility. Worse, he lost all that practice time while his suit was in the shop. It was a lesson to us all. 

We had live ammunition in our chain rifles. We were trained to be OZ's best pilots, after all, not like today when the base resembles more of a used car lot. We ran courses with checkpoints and targets to destroy, over varying terrain and under all climatic circumstances. I could finish the course long before anyone else, and hitting targets was a cinch. I would often fly close to the ground, despite how many times I was told not to, because I figure it's good practice. (There aren't any rules in war.) The repercussions for hurting endangered wildlife are severe, but mostly it was for the safety of the ground crew. Officers and doctors would follow us in their jeeps just in case anything went wrong. I made it my job to give them all coronaries. 

After a few weeks of cautiousness, I was comfortable enough to experiment a little. Even show off. After about a couple months of hard practice, I had everything down. The techniques Noin had taught us became second nature. I was ready for real battle. Noin said I was a natural. She made me leader of my team when the class was divided for group runs. I learned how to give commands, and to look out for my teammates. It was hard work, and took a level of patience and responsibility I had never had before. It was all for my future, though, and I would have pushed myself a hundred times harder if necessary. That Noin placed so much confidence in me felt empowering, and I made a promise to myself that I would never let her down. Of course, some of my classmates were jealous. I suppose it was only natural they would be, with the special recognition Noin and the other officers gave me. I tried to maintain that it was my hard work paying off, that anyone could do it. 

I did let my ego get the best of me. That I don't necessarily regret. I regret letting my guard down. 

I was making some small adjustments to my suit in the hangar one evening after dinner. Tony and I had had some friendly competition that day on the training field, to put it lightly. OK. Actually, he had been on my team, disobeyed an order because he didn't like me, and made an ass of himself in front of the Instructor. It was beautiful. I should have been suspicious when he didn't even say a word to me at dinner. No snide comments behind my back or nothing. It first occurred to me when I heard someone yell my name. 

I looked down from the scaffolding and there was this guy trying to tell me something. I couldn't hear him over the repairs going on at the other end of the hangar, and he couldn't hear me when I told him so. But he looked like it was important, so I went down to talk to him. I barely took a step toward him when someone grabbed me from behind. 

My reflexes are pretty quick. I elbowed the guy hard in the side and he let go. It was dim in the hangar, but now that I saw him up close I recognized the first guy as one of Tony's friends. I turned to run just as he grabbed my jacket sleeve. Then the second guy jumped on me again and we all went down. They pinned me to the floor, and the first guy, he twisted my arm for no good reason, the sicko. 

I gave a good struggle anyway, until I heard that voice — the most irritating voice in the world. "Evening, Mueller," he said. "Did I interrupt your bonding time with your suit?" I looked up. Tony was standing over me, looking down at me and laughing at his own bad joke. He had a disgustingly smug look on his face. I wanted to knock it right off, partly just for saying my name. Mostly because he sounded like an ass. 

I asked him what the big deal was. 

"I'm tired of you making a fool outta me," he said. "I'm going to get you back." 

"That's fair," I said. "I'd love to take you. But what've your pervert buddies got to do with it? What, Tony, you gutless wonder? Afraid to fight me by yourself, after I kicked your ass last time?" 

"No, not afraid," he said. His friends pulled me to my feet. I tried to use the opportunity to shake them off, but they held onto my arms so tight I could hardly do anything, let alone punch Tony's ugly face in like I really wanted to. "I just think I can make you appreciate my feelings more entirely this way." 

He cracked his knuckles. I knew in some corner of my mind what was coming to me, but I was too angry to be thinking about how much it was going to hurt the next morning. "Go ahead," I said, "but I still think you got it all wrong. It's not _my_ fault you were born such a dumbfuck, Tony." 

It was just the right thing to say. The grin instantly dropped from Tony's face. He hit me, and I felt a shooting pain in my shoulder as my body whipped to the side, then the throbbing under my eye. I had forgotten how much it hurt, but more than anything it really pissed me off. "I told you I'm sick of your bullshit," he said. "You know what a broken nose feels like? This time I'll make you regret you ever came here. And maybe the instructor will think twice next time before making some fag bait the team leader." I couldn't help it: I laughed. When I found my footing and my vision again, I looked him in the eye and told him where to shove it. 

For that, he punched me in the stomach. All the air was knocked out of me. I doubled over, and he hit me again. I'd never felt anything so painful, and Tony didn't even know what he was doing. His anger was driving his blows. Again in my face, while his thugs held me up, like I was some human punching bag. I almost wanted to yell for him to stop, it hurt so bad. But even if I could speak, let alone breathe, I resolved not to give in. Not there underneath the rows of Aries. I wouldn't let some scumbag like him frighten me, even if he killed me - though I doubted he would have, that chickenshit. I felt his knee in my stomach, and it could have gone right through me for all it hurt. I gritted my teeth, trying to hold back a groan, but it came out anyway. My legs gave out. Then Tony grabbed me by the collar, nearly strangling me, and slammed me against the leg of my own Aries. 

Then I heard someone say from far off, "What's going on in here?" God, I was so relieved. Even if it were one of the mechanics, I wouldn't have minded a little embarrassment to make the onslaught end. But even better, it was Alex. When Tony heard his voice - and his calm, echoing footsteps - he looked like he was going to crap his pants. 

I must have looked terrible. Alex took one look at me, and he glared hard at Tony. He had his hands in his pockets, was eyeing Tony's mates like a lion stalking prey. I wanted him to drop this Dalai Lama BS he had going and beat the shit out of the creeps. God knows I would have. "What are you doing?" he said. Like he had to ask. He could fucking see what they were doing. 

"Just giving this little shit what he had coming," Tony said. 

"Get out of here, Tony," Alex said. He came over to help me up, but I didn't want it. Not in front of Tony. I shoved him off. 

Tony was still yelling, trying to justify his actions. "He got what he deserved!" he said. He glared at me and pointed. "I'm not done with you yet, you little fuck," he said. "I'll really get you next time, Mueller, I swear. And next time your boyfriend won't be around to save you." 

I tightened my fist. Every fiber of my being wanted to kill him, if it didn't hurt so much to move. I winced, and gave him the finger. 

But Alex looked him straight in the eye and said very calmly, "Fuck off, Tony." 

And Tony ran. Boy, did he run out of there. 

——— 

I took Mueller back to our room. He said he didn't want my help — aside from when he threw up in the dustbin; he even found enough humor in that to call it bonding — but at least he got himself cleaned up before any of the officers saw him. Lucky for him his only real obvious injury was a small cut under his left eye, which could easily be explained away. He wouldn't stop complaining about it, though. "Aw, man," he said as he looked in his locker mirror. "I look awful!" That was about the shiner Tony gave him. He kept probing the swelling around his eye, wincing a little, swearing a little, like he could make it go away by swearing at it. 

"It's not going to get any better if you keep poking it," I said. In fact, it was only going to get worse. He'd be sore in the morning. I felt bad for him. It was going to be embarrassing showering with those bruises. I wasn't too worried about what our instructors would think, though. Most of them would probably say he had it coming. 

"That guy is going to pay for this, Alex, I swear," Mueller said. "If it's still purple on Monday, he's going to pay _big_ time — Ouch! God fuh — it hurts!" 

"Of course, it does," I told him, and turned back to one of those used, trashy paperbacks they had on base. "So stop touching it and keep the ice on it." 

Mueller shut his locker and looked up at me. "I guess it could have been worse, huh?" I supposed that was his way of thanking me. "It is going to go away, right? I'm not going to have permanent sight damage or anything." 

I snorted. "You should know," I said. "Don't tell me you never lost a fight." 

"In secondary school." 

I laughed, my gut reaction. But when he said that, suddenly his whole attitude about fighting — that pugnacious quality I never quite understood — it made a lot more sense. I remembered what little he had told me about his family being wealthy, his father keeping him on a short leash. Your peers never let you forget something like that. "Go ahead and laugh," he said. "It was a private school, too — if that really matters. I know I'm a real asshole sometimes, Alex, but — well, you would be too if you were me." He dropped down onto his bunk, wincing a little because he'd pulled a muscle in his shoulder. "I've had to defend myself since, like, kindergarten." 

"How so?" 

"Well, the first thing _you_ said to me was how short I was—" 

He was back to making jokes. I smiled at the memory. "It wasn't the first thing." 

"I know — but it was close." He sighed. When he spoke again his tone was somber. "Okay. It's more like... You know my folks are well off. Well, my father didn't want me to grow up thinking I'd have things handed to me in life. He always told me 'there ain't no such thing as a free lunch.' And he was right. So I thought, okay, I'm gonna try my hardest in school so I can have an important career like him, and be respected by people like him. Right. It's a fucking lie, Alex. Nobody fucking cares if you ace your tests or respect your teachers, or if you can even read. They'd call me names just for doing what I was supposed to. So I had to defend myself, you know?" He laughed, forcibly. "God, Alex, I don't know... The whole world's going to hell and I feel like I'm the only one who knows it sometimes. We live in a society that rewards incompetence — I mean, just look at the Alliance! People are given fucking promotions, for God's sake, for doing nothing — for screwing up. Meanwhile, the people who know what they want, who have what it takes to succeed — who work their asses off, what do they get? I'm telling you, sometimes I wonder if there's any sense trying. I mean, what for? What's the point?" 

"You don't really mean that," I said. "After everything you've done. If this is about that guy — just forget it. He's just an insecure idiot." 

"Meanwhile Tony just breezes by in life." His voice had almost fallen to a whisper and he wasn't making sense. "God, the world would be such a better place if it weren't for all the Tonys—" 

"Mueller." 

He didn't say anything after that. I wondered if he was crying, and didn't want me to know. Only because I knew he would never let himself look weak or incompetent if he could help it. To him it was a flaw. I wouldn't have thought any different of him either way. I didn't really understand why he was saying all this now, when he was so close to graduating a Special. I could only assume Tony activated something in him that had been buried a long time. It was really none of my business. Still, I knew what he was sharing with me was something close to sacred, and I honored that. I said, "I know." Nothing more. There was nothing else I could say that hadn't already passed through our minds with greater eloquence than words could give. 

After a while, I thought he had fallen asleep. I was still reading, though hardly registering the words, when he suddenly said: "So. Alex. You never told me where you came from." 

"Does it matter?" I said, throwing his own words back at him. 

I heard him smile. "Nah, just curious," he said. I chuckled. Then Mueller leaned out of his bunk and looked up at me. "I'm serious, though, Alex. You must have some home to be proud of." 

I didn't want to discuss it. But I remembered him joking long ago about coming from Nairobi Muellers, who came from white Tanzanian Muellers, who had come from Afrikaner Müllers, and so on. I lost the urge to be bitter. 

"I'm an African too," I said. I frowned. I wasn't about to tell him how many times I was transferred, or how no one wanted me around. I guess in that way I wasn't as brave as he was. 

"Well, then," he said, "that almost makes us like brothers." 

"Yeah, I guess," I said. "But who cares? I'm just proud of the work I do for OZ. If I can bring some justice and some real change to this world — I don't think anything else really matters. Do you?" 

Mueller sat back. "No. You're right," he said, and there was a quiet passion in his voice you'd miss if you didn't know him as well as I did. "I guess there's no sense dwelling on the past, huh? We're on the brink of a new age after all. Soldiers of OZ..." 

We were silent for a minute, and then he said, "Didn't someone once say the best revenge is one in which the person can't possibly retaliate?" 

"Yeah," I said, "Poe. He also said don't get caught. Why?" 

"No reason," he said. "I just remembered reading that all of a sudden." And I didn't think anything of it. By that point he had confused me with his contradictions and talk of a new age. But a couple days later, Tony didn't return from the run. He went for a Burton, so to speak. Everyone in the mess was talking about it. They said it had been an accident — a mechanical malfunction. Even Noin assured me of that. 

I asked Mueller what happened. He just shrugged and grinned. "The jerk just got what he deserved, that's all," he said. Then he laughed and lowered his voice. "Come on. It wasn't an accident, Alex. It was an execution." 

— 

End of Part 1 


End file.
